


Two to The Skull

by Shinehollow



Series: Ad Astra Per Aspera [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Past Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:48:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinehollow/pseuds/Shinehollow
Summary: You're playing the hand you've been dealt, but you don't let it rest, you shuffle and stack, a gamble... A gamble that must pay off? But how?All Shine wanted to do was make a living as a courier and die unimportant and unnoticed. He didn't want to end up in a plot that could decide the fate of not only the Mojave, but the West as a whole. Good thing he liked a good gamble.





	Two to The Skull

This month was not his month. It had started fine, albeit monotonous as he wandered back into Primm for his payment for his recent job. When he discovered he and five other couriers had another job lined up in the Hub it piqued his interest, until he got there and received his route. It was up north, through Goodsprings towards New Vegas, meaning he’d have to go by Quarry Junction, a place he’d swore to never go by again after getting chased by Deathclaws when he had been taking a delivery to Freeside. He also had to make the delivery to the Strip, a place where, if he remembered correctly, you could only enter if you had enough money to pass a credit check. He wasn’t able to ask if they’d be allowed into the Strip without it before being herded out and sent on his way with his package, a platinum chip which he figured was more trouble to deliver then it was worth.

The trip up until outside Goodsprings had been like every other job he’d been on. Slow, tiring, and boring, with the only real point of interest was two Deathclaws devouring what must have been an unlucky traveler in the distance. He hadn’t noticed the two Great Khans come upon him by the graveyard until they had knocked him out. When he awoke, they had dragged him up against the lone dying tree in the graveyard, the lights of New Vegas twinkling in the distance. A voice a short distance away barked, “You got what you were after. Pay up.”

“You’re crying in the rain, pally,” responded a smooth voice, vastly different than the gruff voice of the first. He tried to pull on the binds around his wrists as more and more came into focus. A third man had noticed him awake, and called out to the other two, “Guess who’s waking up over here.”

He lifted his head, finally taking notice of the full situation. If he had to guess, the smooth talker was the New Vegas type standing in the middle, taking a drag from his cigarette. The other two were clearly the Great Khans who’d waylaid him by the road.

“Time to cash out,” the Vegas man purred, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out with his boot. One of the Great Khans sighed. “Would you get it over with?” The Vegas man turned his head to look at him. “Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain’t a fink, dig?”

He turned back, pulling out a small platinum chip from his coat-the platinum chip he was supposed to deliver. “You’ve made your last delivery, kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene.” The man slid the chip back into his coat, replacing it with an engraved pistol. “From where you’re kneeling it must seem like an 18-karat run of bad luck.” He pointed the gun towards him, adding, “Truth is… the game was rigged from the start.”

The last thing he heard was a gunshot before a brief sensation of blinding pain as the world went black.

* * *

He really didn’t expect to hear the slow cut of a ceiling fan again or open his eyes to the glare of the sun shining through half-broken blinds. Yet, it seemed life had a way of surprising him. That he still had one to still do the surprising was the biggest. He tried to sit up, the world shifting and blurring. “Whoa, easy there. Easy,” an unfamiliar voice told him, and a hand reached out to steady him. “You’ve been out cold a couple of days now.”

The voice didn’t belong to any of his assailants, and obviously was a friendly one if it was telling him to take it easy. He relaxed, briefly, before the spinning of his head made him tense up again.

“Why don’t you just relax a second, get your bearings?” the man said, and he tried again to relax, shifting and sitting against the wall next to the bed. “Let’s see what the damage is,” the man, obviously a doctor, muttered half to himself. “How about your name?” He asked, louder. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Shine,” he managed to rasp, surprising himself with how bad his voice sounded. The doctor stared at him thoughtfully. “Huh. Can’t say it’s what I would’ve picked for you.” He shrugged. “But if that’s your name, that’s your name.”

_You’re not alone there, buddy._

“I’m Doc Mitchell,” the doctor continued. He gestured vaguely out the window. “Welcome to Goodsprings.” He shifted in his chair, giving Shine another thoughtful look. “Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I had to go rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out.” He shifted and pulled out a small machine from behind him. “I take pride in my needlework, but you’d better tell me if I left anything out of place.” He handed him the small machine, a Robco reflectron thing that Shine had never really seen as he asked, “How’d I do?”

Shine barely heard his question, staring blankly at the ragged face in the machine. It looked like him, sure, but a him that took a full box of psycho, chased by some sort of mysterious wasteland alcohol and finished with a night in a Freeside ditch. There were also mild surgical scars around his forehead, and his hair was matted oddly in a few spots, but otherwise he had to concede that it did look like him.

Mitchell gave a half smile. “Well, I got most of it right. The stuff that mattered, anyway.” The doctor stood up, reaching over. “Okay, no sense in keeping you in bed anymore. Let’s see if we can get you on your feet.” Shine slowly began to stand as Mitchell gently pulled him up, closing his eyes to the dizziness that clouded his mind. “Good,” Mitchell said as he recovered his balance. “Why don’t you walk down to the end of the room? Over by the vigor tester machine over there.”

Shine slowly nodded and began to hobble over. His robotic leg had seized up the days he had been out, and it barely bent at the knee as he walked. The doctor watched him like a hawk, letting out a hum of curiosity at his shambling steps. “That leg’s not a real leg, is it?” he asked, nodding at Shine’s right leg. “What?” the courier asked, then he shook his head. “Oh, yeah. No, it ain’t.” Mitchell chuckled. “It’s seen better days, hasn’t it?” He walked over and looked it up and down. “You know how to fix it? I would try, but I’m better at biological fixing than robotic.” Shine stopped in front of the vigor tester, bracing his hands on it with a nod. “Yeah, I can make it bend.”

“Good. I don’t think you’d want to be shipped down to the NCR to see if they can do anything about it,” Mitchell said as he followed him carefully. “Looks good otherwise. Go ahead and give the vigor tester a try.” He nodded at the old machine standing against the wall. “We’ll learn right quick if you got back all your faculties.”

Shine turned and stared at it blankly as he fiddled with it. He couldn’t care less about what he did with it. As soon as he had stood, he had begun to truly accept that he was alive and had started thinking more about the man who shot him. Despite courier being one of his last career choices, he had begun to take a certain pride in his work. The Vegas junkie had decided to test that dedication to his work by stealing his package and leaving him for dead. Returning the favour only seemed the logical course of action.

He sat back from the machine once the screen had stopped changing. The doctor let out a whistle next to him. “Nothing gets by you, huh? Coulda used you when I lost my keys last month.” Shine gave him a faint smile. “I’m even better with my glasses on.” The doctor shook his head with a chuckle. “You wouldn’t think you were comatose just moments ago.”

The doctor stepped out into the room to Shine’s left, beckoning for him to follow. “Well, your vitals are good. But that don’t mean those bullets didn’t leave you nuttier than a Bighorner dropping.” Shine limped after him, feeling a small sense of satisfaction at the strength growing in his leg.

Mitchell turned back to him and gestured at the ratty couch that sat facing the dark fireplace. “What do you say you take a seat on my couch and we go through a couple questions? See if your dogs are still barking.” He nodded and limped over, sinking down slowly on the couch. The doctor waited until he was sure he was comfortable before sitting down on the old chair across from him. He leaned over and told him, “All right. I’m going to say a word. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Dog.”

“Train,” Shine replied quickly, without hesitation. His time with the Legion was definitely on the top of the worst experiences in his life, but they’d taught him the importance of a good war dog, even if they were used against him most of the time.

“House.”

“Shelter.” Another easy answer.

“Night.”

“Shroud.”

“Enemy.”

Now this was slightly more difficult. “Stab.”

“Light.”

“Dark.” _This is quickly getting old._

“Mother.”

Shine blinked. He never really thought about parents that often. It took him a bit, but he finally said, “Genes.”

Mitchell watched him carefully for a moment with something that Shine couldn’t tell if it was pity or worry in his eyes. Then he gave a subtle shake of his head and it was gone. “Okay, now I’ve got a few statements. I want you to tell me how much they sound like something you’d say.

“First one. ‘Conflict just ain’t my nature.’”

Shine chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Disagree.”

“‘I ain’t given to relying on others for support.’”

“Disagree.”

“’I’m slow to embrace new ideas.’”

“Disagree.”

“’I charge in to deal with my problems head on.’”

“Strongly agree,” Shine said with a small chuckle. “We’ll get better acquainted, doc. Your services will be much appreciated.”

The doctor shook his head. “You better not go out killing yourself right after I saved your life.” He reached behind him and pulled out a small pad. “Almost done here. What do you say you have a look at these? Tell me what you see.”

Shine reached over and grabbed the pad, staring blankly at the first picture. “A broken chain, I guess.” Mitchell nodded and motioned for him to flip the page. Shine took a quick glance before hurriedly flipping it to the next picture. “I’m going to save you the suffering of hearing me say it and let you guess what I think it looks like.”

Mitchell only raised an eyebrow, then nodded at the paper. “Last one.” Shine glanced back down at the pad. “A mushroom cloud, I think.” He handed the pad back and slowly rolled his shoulders.

“Good,” Mitchell said, putting the pad back underneath his chair. “Before I turn you loose, I need one more thing from you. I got a form for you to fill out, I can get a sense of your medical history.” He pulled out another sheet of paper, and Shine stifled a sigh as he grabbed them. “Just a formality,” Mitchell said apologetically, handing him a pen. “Ain’t like I expect to find you got a family history of getting shot in the head.”

Shine just grumbled a curse as he carefully filled it out on his metal thigh. He thrusted back the pen and paper, relieved to finally get it over with so he could go get dressed. Mitchell smiled at him. “All right. I guess that about does it.” He stood up and motioned for Shine to follow. “Come with me. I’ll see you out.”

Shine stood and slowly followed the doctor out to the hallway. When he got to the front door the doctor ducked back into the room he’d woken up in and came out with a bundle of stuff. He handed them to Shine. “Here. These are yours. Was all you had on you when you was brought in.” On top perched his hat, a little bloody and dirty but otherwise fine. His ‘borrowed’ ranger coat and breastplate looked about the same, with a couple more scuff marks on the breastplate than before. His jeans had more blood on them than he liked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, he supposed.

“I hope you don’t mind but I gave the note a look,” Mitchell was saying as Shine began to pay attention to him, nodding at the delivery noticed poking out from under his hat. “I thought it might help me find a next of kin. But it was just something about a platinum chip.” The doctor reached for the monitor thing on his arm and easily took it off, holding it out to him. “Well, if you’re heading back out there, you ought to have this.” He placed it and the glove precariously on the bundle. “They call it a Pip-Boy. I grew up in one of them vaults they made before the war. We all got one. Ain’t much use to me now, but you might want such a thing, after what you’ve been through. I know what it’s like, having something taken from you.”

He then handed him a blue jumpsuit. “And here, consider this a gift. Never was much my style anyway.”

Shine glanced at the bundle in his arms before saying, “Thanks for patching me up, Doc.” The doctor waved him off. “Don’t mention it. It’s what I’m here for.” He began to walk off, but turned back and said, “You should talk to Sunny Smiles before you leave town. She can help you learn to fend for yourself in the desert. She’ll likely be at the saloon. I reckon some of the other fellas at the saloon might be able to help you, too. And the metal fella, Victor, who pulled you outta your grave. Anyway, you ever get hurt out there, you come right back. I’ll fix you up.” He paused before letting out an exasperated sigh. “But try not to get killed anymore.” With that the doctor vanished into another room, leaving Shine standing by the door alone.

He took a glance at his delivery notice, before dumping the bundle carefully onto the floor and pulling on his clothes. He couldn’t wear his other glove with this Pip-Boy thing, so he shoved it into his pocket, quietly cursing the awkward style. He slid on his hat and, he noticed, a new pair of glasses and opened the door to Goodsprings, a brewing plan of revenge on his mind.


End file.
